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SHAKE RAG 

“Now reams have been written of Erin's green isle-

"It's a wonderful place" so they say 
I too write of a spot on which God must have smiled, 
And it isn't so far away. 
It's a place known as "Shake Rag", a very odd name 
Such another you're not likely to see. 
A wonderful spot, its folks wonderful too. 
And they meant a whole world to me. 
It's in Monroe County, down in "Old Mizzou", 
Near a small town, Holliday is the name- 
Just a very small area - a square mile or two, 
That I'd nominate for fame. 
I go back in memories, some beyond my years, 
To folks whose home it used to be; 
Some I do remember, and shed a few tears- 
As I think how dear they were to me. 
Many years have gone by since I've seen this spot, 
But its memories are with me still. 
And in dreams I go back - listen to "Bishop Mack", 
See the little white church he'd fill. 
There were Beauchamps, Hagers, Pierces and Whittakers, 
Galbraith families - two. 
A Dutchman named Wheeling, who was not "double-dealing" 
Stevens, with their pretty daughter, Sue. 
Hawkers, Harmons and Heathman lived on "The Hill", 
In the "Bottom" lived Aunt Chloery Jane- 
And tho her descendants are legion, there's none left who carry her name. 
There were Burgesses, Braytons, Bartons and Millers, 
Beechums with three sons and three daughters - One 
    Of them named Ola Bea- 
Ragsdales, Durbans and Jacksons, 
Blacks and Anglo-Saxons, 
Lived in peace and in harmony. 
Many names I've not mentioned, most folks have gone away- 
Many gone beyond recall; 
But, I think when we're gathered on Judgement Day 
'Twould be wonderful to see them all. 
There were fish for the taking back in the creek, 
'Coons and 'possums in the woodland shade. 
In the meadows about, bobwhites you could seek, 
And fat rabbits basked in the glade. 
There were blackberries most as big as my thumb- 
Gooseberries and I think wild plus - a few, 
"Hazel nuts", hickory nuts, walnuts and butter nuts 
Were in the woodlands too, 
While nestling down in the dew at your feet 
Were dewberries covered with dew. 
Down on Rocky Branch, behind Glascock's Farm 
Grew lovely wild fern, half as long as you arm. 
Phlox, "boy-breeches" and daisies their languid heads raised, 
As bluebells silently rang out a paean in God's praise. 
Some of my Indian forbears may have once strode the halls, 
Of the wonderful Rocky Branch cave. 
For their marvelous drawings are all on the walls,  
Forgive me, if I seem to rave. 
That a spot so fair, bears a name so drab, certainly seems a shame. 
And mem'ry hears Grandpa's voice insisting still- 
Pleasant Hill is it's real-true name. 
Some day all its wonders will be known far and wide, 
And if God's new earth I'm to see, 
I hope that Jehovah gives me, 
A spot in SHAKE RAG, you guessed, 
Where the truest, the best, 
Friends on this old earth seemed to be.”